


depth and breadth and height

by Cordelia



Series: i shall but love thee better [2]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Afterlife fic, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia/pseuds/Cordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are sitting in a secluded field, the sea lapping at the shore quietly in the distance, and now he reaches for me fully.  His hands go to my head and drag me to his, though I go willingly; it is a long time since we had this sort of freedom, the hours to while away in slow, burning heat.  This, and this, and this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	depth and breadth and height

  
The first touch is soft, barely there.  His fingers brush over the hair on my arm, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.  His touch is as electrifying as ever, sending shivers down my spine and hitching my breath.  There is something different about it now, however; I search in my mind for the answer, and then I  realise – I am not afraid.  There is no fear here, no ever-present ominous shadow of doom casting upon the moment.  In this place, where heroes wander and indulge themselves, where peace and joy are freely given, there is no room for fear.  This is eternity, I think as Achilles’ fingers dance down my arm to take my hand in his.  As he raises my palm to his lips, his eyes flash to mine and he smiles a smile of many summers ago.  Still that boy, that ten year-old prince, full of hope and excitement.  I think that will always be true of him, although he was almost thirty by the time he died: Achilles is ageless, timeless.  This is truly why it is he, and not his son, who will be revered for years to come. 

 

A gentle kiss is pressed to the centre of my palm.  The feeling lingers, before another is placed, and another.  I can only watch him as he continues to worship my hand so, wanting to touch him fully yet not wanting him to stop.  It has been a few minutes of these precious kisses when he slows, his hand on mine tightening slightly.  His eyebrows crease a little and his eyes shut as he slowly pulls my palm to his lips and kisses again, only this time he does not stop.  I can feel the suppleness of his lips warming the centre of my palm as a star lights the surrounding sky; his hair has fallen across his brow, but the eyelashes that rest on his cheeks brush against my hand and I know that he is savouring my skin, my smell, me.  I have not forgotten that he too was alone in this life for some time, waiting for someone in the world of the living to honour his wishes and me both so that I might join him at last.  He needs this moment, I know.  He needs to feel me once again, to cling to me a little too tightly for awhile, just to reassure him that _yes, Achilles, I am here.  We shall never be apart again_.

 

My hand – my other hand, not the one currently in his caress – comes to rest in his hair.  I stroke the top of his golden curls, no longer lax as they had been in his last weeks of life, but shining and supple.  The Isles of the Blessed have returned us to our peak condition in life.  The soul, it seems, cannot hide who one is.  Achilles is pure of heart and so he shines in this life as he did in the last.  I have not seen a mirror yet but know that my arms are smooth and muscled, my skin bronzed and healthy.  The best of the Myrmidons.  Still I had not realised I was the one the gods had referred to in their prophecy, not until Achilles had told me when we had reunited.  Briseis had said it, once; at the time I had thought nothing of it.  Neither had Achilles, but it is the strangest thing that he did not; to him I was always the best of the Myrmidons, the best of all Greeks, the best of anyone he had ever met, because I was his.  And fame might have tugged his concentration for most of his life, but my demise had brought out the truth of Achilles’ character: his heart, the core of him, the essence of his being, was love.  And the Fates had chosen, by some bizarre twist of destiny, that I had this love entirely.

 

There is a change in his demeanour – suddenly he is sitting up, turning to stare at me fully, my hand slipping from his hair.  We are sitting in a secluded field, the sea lapping at the shore quietly in the distance, and now he reaches for me fully.  His hands go to my head and drag me to his, though I go willingly; it is a long time since we had this sort of freedom, the hours to while away in slow, burning heat.  This, and this, and this.  Our lips meet, and his hands instantly knot in my hair as if on instinct, mine slipping around his slender waist.  The kiss begins slowly, warm lips against warm lips, sighs and breaths in the few moments we break apart.  And then his tongue licks my lips as if to prise them open, and they part gladly.  Now there are hot tongues, not battling, but dancing within the furnace of our united mouths.  The pads of his fingers press into my skull, my dark hair becoming messy as it threads between his fingers.  I rub the fabric of his tunic, half soothingly, half wantonly – I cannot mistake the pooling heat in my lower stomach, nor can he deny the straining between his legs.  Not that he wishes to deny us anything; I know this had been his intention in showing me this field, beautiful, warm, a place where other heroes will not roam out of respect for us.  It is the perfect place for this, for our thousandth and first time together.  We had yet to make love in this life until now, and we are both wanting.

 

“Patroclus,” Achilles half moans against my lips, his teeth dragging against my skin.  The choked sound that comes from my throat I am sure does not sound so alluring as he does, but he does not seem to care.  Indeed he appears spurned on by his own need and my clear agreement.  He shifts so that he is in my lap, our bodies flush against each other, and his hips roll.  The artistic curve of his back arches as my quickly hardening length presses against his through the thin fabric of our tunics.  The moan that escapes his lips comes freely this time, loud and heavy with the weight of his lust.  It is as though just his very breath could send me to the edge; moaning and whining and groaning my name is almost overkill, my cock hard and straining against the folds of cloth. 

 

We kiss messily as he rocks his hips against mine and I know that our insides are alight in this moment.  This grinding against each other is satisfying, but when his hands reach down to grasp at the hem of my tunic I understand that he wants more, much more, just as I do.  With a groan of agreement I pull my tunic over my head with some difficulty – he seems rather reluctant to leave my lap, and I try to work around him though it slows my effort – and am now left naked on the cloth we had laid down on the grass.  Achilles eyes my body, his mouth darting down to suck and nibble at my collar bone, causing a sharp gasp to escape my lips.  He does not stop there; soon his tongue is swirling over my left nipple, and then the other – teeth biting and tugging at the pink nubs that has me groaning his name.  The tunic he wears is sweaty and tented above his groin, but he does not seem to mind.  He always took pleasure in seeing me succumb to his whims, seeing me sent to the brink of ecstasy, before allowing himself to join me there and throwing us both over the edge.  His trail of kissing and nibbling has reach the flesh just above my straining length.  It is flushed red and curved against my stomach, almost painfully full.  Looking up at me again with that wide, teasing grin, he slowly lowers his face until is a millimetres away from the head of my cock.  There he stays, looking at my face, his breath making my cock twitch and my cheeks flush more than they already have.  What feels like hours pass by, but it must only be minutes.  It is only when my hardness begins to soften visibly, wilting ever so slightly in the afternoon sun, that Achilles strikes. 

 

Quickly, as quick as when he fought, Achilles takes my cock in his mouth in one fell swoop.  My hips jerk involuntarily, and my head lolls backwards as I let out a drawn out moan.  Fists tightening in the sheets, I can only hold on and try not to collapse completely as Achilles begins to lick his way up and down my length.  My cock is heavy on his tongue and he relishes it, working his tongue along its shaft almost lovingly, mapping the creases of my flesh like a sculptor moulds his marble.  All of my willpower is needed to stop myself from thrusting forward into the tight heat of his mouth; I do not wish to hurt him, and though I am aware that injury is not possible in this life, the old worry of pushing too far is still prevalent.

 

It appears that Achilles has no such qualms.  He pulls back so that only the head of my leaking cock is in his mouth, tongue teasing the tip, tasting me delightedly.  There is something in his eyes, a sort of want that sends the blood pumping through my veins at a faster rate, thrilling me.  I know what he wants.  Yet still I am reluctant.  He can see the hesitation in my eyes, and pulls off entirely.  The warm air feels cold at the loss of his warmth, and I shudder.  Pulling up, he places a hand on my cheek, and we are level again.

 

“Patroclus,” he whispers softly, no trace of lust in his voice.  I can’t say the same for myself when I respond, having to clear my dry throat before speaking.

 

“Achilles, I don’t... What if-“ a finger presses to my lips, and I stop midsentence.  There is the barest of smiles on his face, his eyes kind, and he thumbs my lips absently as he talks.

 

“Patroclus, I want you.  I want you in every possible, wonderful way you can think of, and then some.  I want to taste your crevasses and roll in your tide, to make you come apart and then put you back together.  Let me.  Let me touch you, and kiss you, and suck you dry.  I want to feel you come undone at my hand, at my tongue, and know that you are safer than you ever have been and more loved than any other man ever born.  You are my light, Patroclus.  You are my whole world.  Let me give you this.”  His eyes burn brightly as he looks into mine, no deception in his gaze, only love, and I nod.  It had never really been a fight, this choice; I wanted it, and only refused for fear he did not, for fear of hurting him in some way.  But once he has asked something of me, I can do naught but gift it to him.

 

Achilles takes me in his mouth again, bobbing his head up and down my shaft quickly to return it to full strain after it has softened a little during our brief conversation.  My eyes roll back into my head as his tongue licks my slit, and I buck my hips.  Quickly I return my gaze to him, only to see eager lust on his face.  He nods as much as he can with my cock in his mouth, a sign that this is fine, this is good.  He wants this as much as I do. 

 

Slowly, so as not to make him gag, I shift my hips back a little.  He stays stock still, the sun crowning his beautiful hair, wild from our ministrations, and waits.  My hips stutter forwards, and he moans, the vibrations snapping all resolve I have left.  Suddenly, like a bursting bank of a river, I thrust forward into the tight heat of his mouth, all restraint vanished.  He whines around my cock, high and needy, eyelids fluttering in pleasure.  There is a twitching under his tunic, where his cock strains, untouched.  I had not thought the sight of his clear arousal at being used so would arouse me, but it does, and my hips snap into a fast pace.  The rhythm of my movements seem to send him wild, his eyes rolling and tongue lapping eagerly when it is not trapped beneath my cock.  I am lost in the sensations, the pleasure making me shout and cry without thought.  Achilles, Achilles, Achilles.  Over and over I call his name, moaning it like some forbidden sin, like a god on high.  My length rolls in and out of his mouth, faster, harder than to begin with, but he does not look alarmed.  Still he looks content, aroused, desperate for more.  But I am too close, and I do not want to reach my heights without Achilles reaching them with me.  Reluctantly I slow to a holt, and he looks at me questioningly, my cock still hard in his mouth.  He licks me, and I shudder.

 

“No, Achilles.”  Confusion flashes across his face, then uncertainty; do I want this, has he been to presumptuous in his actions?  I shake my head, and slowly pull out of his mouth.  He looks a little lost for a moment, before realising that he has the ability to speak once more.

 

“Was that not... good for you?”  His face is not a mask, for he wears that face no longer, but it does not contain quite the amount of doubt that I can hear in his voice.  Desperate to reassure him, I shake my head.

 

“That was amazing.  I was too close, and I don’t-“

 

“I want to swallow you.”  My cock twitches against my stomach, and I let out a frustrated groan.

 

“Achilles, as much as I would love to... spill down your throat, if you wished me too,” he nods eagerly, and I sigh.  “But not today, don’t you see?  We are together again, at last, and this is the first time, our first time in this life, together, fully.  I want to be with you when I spill, I want us to reach that highest pleasure together.  Is that... do you want that?”  There is uncertainty in my voice.  I am still a little unsure of this world, this eternal haven, though not of Achilles.  I am always sure of him.  It is myself that I am unsure of – am I different in this place?  The slow spread of a dazzling smile upon Achilles’ face is enough to answer my question: we are the same people as we have always been, only freed from the shackles that weighed us down in mortality.  No longer does Achilles care for fame, no longer do I fear losing him; this place, this afterlife, is our reward.  Now we are free to have what we always wanted with no distraction or uncertainty: each other.

 

He reaches for me, cups my face with his palm, and pulls me into a tender kiss.  Kissing him is like the sun, hot and radiating and so very bright.  I would kiss him forever if I could – I feel a smile tug at my lips as I realise that I can.  Our life together was wonderful, but this is immortality, and it is glorious and unceasing. 

 

With gentle hands I reach down to grasp his tunic, and pull it above his head in one fell swoop.  Finally we are both naked, our bronzed skin no longer separated by anything but air, and I breathe deeply.  It has been too long since we have been like this.  But now is not the time to think of what has passed.  Instead I reach forward and take his proud length in hand.  He moves closer so that we are once again almost flush against each other, his breath hot against my shoulder where he is curved over.  I feel it hitch as I move my hand along his shaft, slowly, lovingly.  The strangled whine that makes its way up his throat is music to my ears and I press a kiss to his collar bone.  Still I am slow in my movements; I wish to tease him to the edge, to draw needy moans from him as he teeters on the brink, to watch the beautiful contortions of pleasure in his face.

 

“Patroclus,” he begins, tongue heavy and tripping over my name.  My fingers twist and nip at his cock deftly, and his hips thrust sloppily, all gracefulness reduced to want.  “Patro-“ the cry he lets out is the loudest yet, wild and desperate.  The pleasure of my hand is almost too much for him to bear, and he begins to rut into my hand. 

 

I allow this for a moment – I take my own pleasure in seeing his mouth hanging open, wanton sounds and my name spilling from it like the tide in a flood, his eyes half-open, his whole body flushed and sensitive.  It is only when I feel his hands on my shoulders tightening that I quickly place a hand against his chiselled stomach, stopping his movements.  He pants loudly, his expression totally wrecked, his cock leaking profusely where it now stands untouched.  I cannot resist the urge to lean down between us and lick the pre-come off his slit.  He hisses, hips bucking again, and I smile involuntarily before pressing a light kiss to the head of his cock.  The sigh he lets out is a stark contrast to the lusty noises he has been making, another reminder that this is not just fucking but an act of love, that we shall still be here when the morrow comes.

 

Achilles looks at me as I raise my head back up to meet his gaze.  There is such fondness in his lust-addled eyes that my smile widens.  There is no breeze here, no breath of wind on this humid day, nothing to cool down the aching of our bodies from all our writhing.  It is this that prompts me to suggest where we go from here.

 

“Lie with me.” 

 

And he does.  Applying pressure to my shoulders, Achilles pushes me slowly down to the cloth with care.  He is above me, now; in this part, when we reach the final scene of our passionate escapade, he prefers to lead above and to steer me below.  This moment, when he straddles my hips, our cocks finally touching, I feel a strange rush of emotions: lust, longing, need, desperation, delight, love.  These feelings are reflected in Achilles’ hazel-green eyes, and he places a chaste kiss on my lips.  And then he is moving.

 

I can only throw my head back to the ground and moan as he takes both of us in hand, our hips rocking together to increase the friction.  Already over-sensitised by his previous stimulations, the roughness of our rutting sends sparks of pain through my overwhelming pleasure.  It is easy to see his face from here; his head is thrown back into the air, eyes heavily lidded, flushed cheeks slack as he repeats my name like a mantra.  His expression alone is pleasure enough to me.  This touching, the smack of our skin as our hips increase their desperate pace, the glorious feeling of his cock on mine, is almost too much to bear.  I begin to mumble his name, rambling moans and gasps and pleas tumbling from my mouth.  We are both so far gone.  His haloed hair is wild and glistening with sunlight and sweat, the ragged want on his face and in his voice identical to my own. 

 

I can feel my orgasm barrelling towards me, the remaining heat in my stomach heading down to my aching cock, and I reach up from where my hands have been grasping the cloth to curl my fist over both our lengths.  Achilles keens at my touch, our hands moving together as we stroke each other into oblivion.  He climaxes first, streaks of white painting his stomach and my hand as he screams in ecstasy, my name echoing through the field.  I stroke him through it, my cock abandoned, but the moment he is fully spent he pounces on me and in three long strokes sends me over the edge. 

 

I am only vaguely aware that I am shouting Achilles’ name, that the one of his hands not on my cock is smoothing my hair and his lips are kissing the corners of my mouth.  When my senses return, Achilles is already lying beside me with a blissed expression, smiling at me.  I smile back breathlessly.  There is very little to say in this moment, so we do not speak, at least not with words.  Achilles takes my hand in his, tangling our fingers together, and raises our joint hands to his lips.  Pressing a light kiss to my hand, he nuzzles my knuckles and lets out a quiet laugh.  I cannot help but pull him in until we are fully nestled together, naked in this field, my arms around his waist, his curling around my shoulders to thread through my hair and caress my cheek.  Our legs are slotted together, softened cocks against each other’s thighs.  There is definitely going to be another round of this soon, but for now we pause to breath each other in, to hold each other.  I wonder briefly if Achilles knows that this is not the beginning of us, but the beginning of our eternity together, our prize for all that we did in life. 

 

He looks at me with those wide hazel eyes, the gentlest smile on his face.  The softly whispered ‘I love you’ that follows causes me to press a kiss to his lips as I mummer back the sentiment.

 

He knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gods, I've never written smut before, so I apologise if this was awful. It was supposed to be beta'd but I'm going on holiday tomorrow and I needed to post it before I left, so it's sadly not, therefore all mistakes are my own. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!


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